The Fall
by Winter Ashby
Summary: She wished she could explain what he meant to her. But she didn't know how or was too afraid, words had always failed her. But she could show him. So she said, "I need this, Connor." When what she meant was 'I need you.' [Connor/Abby] Now Complete
1. Time & Space - Connor

**Title:** The Fall**  
****Chapter: **Time & Space - Connor (1 of 5)**  
Author:** Winter Ashby _(rosweldrmr)_**  
Disclaimer:** Primeval © Adrian Hodges & Tim Haines**  
Rating:** M  
**Warnings: **M Rating is for sexually explicit situations - for realsies.  
**Time Line**: Post Season 3 - Pre Season 4. The lost year.  
**Summary: **She wished she could explain what he meant to her. But she didn't know how or was too afraid, words had always failed her. But she could show him. So she said, "I need this, Connor." When what she meant was 'I need you.' [Connor/Abby]  
**Authors Notes:** I saw an interview with Andrew and Hannah just before Season 4 aired, when they were talking about the year their character's spent in the Cretaceous and the interviewer asked who pursued who. And Hannah said that she always pictured Abby going after Connor. There are a million of these 'lost year' fics, I'm sure. Some that are far better than mine, but this idea of Abby trying to get Connor popped into my head, and I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I tried to stay as true to canon as possible, I think the only liberty I took was, in this fic, Connor and Abby slept together once right after Cutter died and before Connor moved out. More will be explored later.

This fic has been completed but I wanted to do chapters, so I will post one chapter a week for 5 weeks.

* * *

**TIME & SPACE - CONNOR**

"I'm going out for a bit." Abby called, her pack already slung over her shoulder, she didn't even look Connor in the eyes before she ducked out of the nest of thickets they'd managed to cultivate into a shelter.

"Where're you going?" Connor asked the empty nest after looking up from his 'project' a second too late. Connor sighed deeply and hung his head. He'd been working on a spear for a while now, trying to shape a stone into a sharp arrow and widdle a staff. He was trying, but he didn't have the right materials or expertise to make anything that was really effective. At least not yet, anyway.

It'd been six months since they were stranded in the wrong era. Six months since they lost Danny. Six months since he failed Abby. Six months since he'd had a proper bath, or a coffee, or a shag. Well, to be honest, it had been a while longer than six months for that, a great long while. Six months since he'd had access to lotion and the internet then.

Six months since there was hope in Abby's eyes. Six long months of watching her turn into herself, if only to escape him. And she'd done this before, the disappearing thing. She did it about once a month since they'd been here, disappeared for a day, on her own.

At first they fought about it. What if she was hurt or lost? But she had insisted that she needed time, and space - whatever that meant. She'd take off, nothing but anger and frustration in her eyes. And she always came back the next morning, cleaner and more relaxed. So, now when she did it, he didn't even question it.

If that's what she needed, time away from him, then he could do that for her. It was the least he could do. Since he'd failed in every other way.

What good was it to be able to name the creature that was attacking them if he couldn't fight or run or hide or hunt or gather or build a fire?

Connor growled and rubbed his hands over his face. If he was honest, he would admit that he needed a day a month alone as well. If only to relieve the built-up tension. It was such close quarters, it wasn't like sharing the loft had been. At least when they'd lived together they'd had separate beds, separate showers and rooms. And there had been the one time they slept together, even if she thought it was a mistake after, at least it had happened. Now, they slept practically with each other.

Connor couldn't even count how many times he'd woken up over the past six months with Abby curled into his side, clinging to his arms, a leg thrown over his. And always, always, he'd wanted her. He wanted to tell her he still loved her, that he'd do anything for her. That he would protect her and get her home someday. That he'd give anything to kiss her again, to feel her hands on his chest, to run his fingers through her long, now dirty blond hair. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful and courageous, captivating and enthralling. Amazing and inspiring. She was perfect.

And, that, was why he needed some time alone. Eventually it got to the point where he couldn't think, couldn't breathe or live or _move _without thinking about Abby and sex.

Abby and sex. The thought ricochet around his hopelessly empty mind, rebounding and magnified, it echoed larger back at him. Abby and sex. Sex and Abby.

Oh, he needed this. Back then, with warm showers and different lives and schedules and so many other reasons, mostly frequency, he'd been fine to live with her and not constantly fear what he might do if she didn't put her pants back on after a dip in the stream or brush against him as they got ready for bed. Or when she draped herself over, sometimes almost on top of him while they slept. Like this morning, when he'd woken up from a wet dream, sticky thighs and boxers that clung to his skin and her leg nestled snug, as you please, against his balls. Like her thigh had a right to be there, like she had claim to him and his private bits. And she was blissfully ignorant. Still sound asleep, wrapped around him, like a noose.

He didn't know why she took off. Maybe she knew he needed this, or maybe she was doing the same thing. Or maybe she just couldn't stand to look at him or be around him one more moment. He didn't know, and he didn't ask. He just waited a good ten minutes before turning his back to the entrance, the half-done spear lay forgotten at his feet.

It only took a seconds before he'd yanked off his trousers and started jerking off. As always, it didn't take too long. Morning wood didn't really count, so it'd been just over a month now, and he was ready. He ached with it. He was desperate, almost frantic. If he timed it right, he could get at least three or four rounds off before Abby came back.

He came in his hand, thinking of Abby. A low grunt was the only noise he made. In the wake of his unsatisfying orgasm, a fiery cool washed over him and settled, like a mist on his skin. God, he'd needed that.

He cleaned up, righted his clothes and went back to work on his spear, but his mind wasn't on it. This kind of thing wasn't really his forte. It didn't take a lot of mental focus to make pointy things. So soon, his mind drifted to other things, other places, other times, other people.

He thought about home, and food and indoor plumbing. He thought wistfully of coffee and toilet paper. He thought of Stephen and Cutter. He thought of Danny and Becker. Jenny and Lester. He thought about college and papers and all the things he'd left half-finished. He thought about his mum, being informed her son was 'lost in action' while she gripped the doorframe and sobbed, open-mouthed, into her palm - the way she'd done when his father didn't come either.

He thought about the future and predators and the paradox of time travel and anomalies. He replayed Doctor Who episodes in his mind and did everything he could to _not _think about Abby. But, of course, none of that really lasted all that long. His busy, restless brain was woefully equipped to do all that while simultaneously thinking about all his numerous failures.

He thought about that moment in the tree before the flash grenade went off. It was his fault Danny had gone off alone. His fault they were here in the first place. He'd given Helen the artifact, he'd taken them through the anomaly without ever understanding the 'how' or 'why' of it. It'd been foolish and stupid and reckless. And he'd stranded himself and Abby in an age of beasts and unnamed dangers.

She'd stayed for him. Because she felt _obligated_. God, and he hated himself. The grief and disappointment and pain all mixed together until he was sick with it. Sick with wanting and hating himself. He hated that he was lusting after her like a schoolboy, unable to control himself or stop himself from wanting her, from needing her.

In that way, it didn't last too long before the haze of his first go had worn off and he was left aching and frustrated again. Probably no more than 20 minutes had passed, and he got that familiar urge again.

This time, he was less hurried as he undressed and laid out flat on the blanket they shared, that smelled of her, and began the business of masturbating. It always took longer the second time, and as the months wore on, it became more difficult to find completion, even when he thought or fantasized about Abby. It also didn't help that by that time all the guilt was mixed with lust and it created a terrible mixture where he could only finish by thinking of Abby and openly crying with regret.

It was lust and shame. Wantonness and remorse. Desire and contrition.

He imagined it was probably what catholic schoolboys felt when they whacked off in boarding school with crucifixes on all the walls, watching, judging, reminding them that what they were doing was wrong.

So too was Abby. Her scent, her clothes, her absence, it all reminded him that this was wrong. He was wrong. But still, he pumped his fist and bit his lip.

He conjured images of her dancing in their flat in nothing but a half shirt and her underwear. He thought of her skin, her lips, of what it felt like to kiss her. Her tongue sliding over his, her hands doing this for him.

He was close, but it wasn't enough. He needed more.

He pictured her naked body, the day he'd gone to rinse in the stream and found her already there. Her breasts wet and glistening in the sun, her nipples perked as her hands ran through her longer, tangled hair. Her mouth wrapped around his cock. The one, hurried, depressing time they'd slept together before Cutters funeral, even half dressed and crying, slipping inside her and pressing her back and down had been satisfying, in a heartbroken kind of way. He imagined her calling his name as her head rolled back to meet her shoulders while he ran his fingers up her thighs to bury them inside her wet, hot -

He came again, shuttering, grunting, and thrusting into his hand so hard his hips bucked off the ground and his cum shot across the campsite. He made a garbled sound like grunting and sobbing all rolled into one. His nose ran and he wiped his cheeks with his sleeve. Tears had run down his face as he laid, pooling in the shells of his ears and dripping off his neck. His hair was greasy and matted to his forehead and he was sweating.

He made no move to clean up or dress. Instead, he groaned with relief and promptly fell into one of the only deep and dreamless sleeps he was ever capable of in the Cretaceous.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Next time - find out what the last six months have been like for Abby. And where does she go when she disappears?


	2. Time & Space - Abby

**Title:** The Fall**  
****Chapter: **Time & Space - Abby (2 of 5)**  
Author:** Winter Ashby _(rosweldrmr)_**  
Disclaimer:** Primeval © Adrian Hodges & Tim Haines**  
Rating:** M  
**Warnings: **M Rating is for sexually explicit situations - for realsies.  
**Time Line**: Post Season 3 - Pre Season 4. The lost year.  
**Summary: **She wished she could explain what he meant to her. But she didn't know how or was too afraid, words had always failed her. But she could show him. So she said, "I need this, Connor." When what she meant was 'I need you.' [Connor/Abby]  
**Authors Notes:** Now we get to see Abby's side of things for the past six months, and where she goes when she disappears for a day.

* * *

**TIME & SPACE - ABBY**

Abby recognized the signs. The irritability, the constant need to keep his hands busy. The way his eyes would follow her, or flit to her lips or breasts or ass when he didn't think she could see. Or maybe he didn't even know he was doing it. Either way, she knew what it meant.

Connor needed some alone time.

She'd been doing it for months now, giving him space to work out his frustrations and other issues without her breathing down his neck. He'd been on 'fix it' mode ever since they woke up that second day in the tree tops and realized that Danny was gone.

One night, a few days after they got stranded, she found him vomiting outside the camp. She wasn't even sure how he was still standing. He'd been working himself ragged and without a stable food or water supply yet, she worried what might happen if he kept on like that. She realized then that his concussion had been worse than she'd first thought.

His eyes were unfocused and he just kept apologizing over and over. He apologized for trapping her, for being useless at fighting, for falling out of the tree, for stranding them, for loving her, for kissing her, for wanting her, for sleeping with her after Cutter died, for Rex and Jack and Danny and Cutter.

She didn't know what to do with him. He was delirious and close to hyperventilation. After that night, she insisted they split up the watches. She knew he was pushing himself too hard.

He spent everyday working to secure them shelter and find food and water. And when they had that, he made weapons for hunting and fishing and defense. He scouted the area for predators, and would catalog, name, and study every track he found. He learned to make fires and clean the small game Abby brought down. He made her a small spear and a fishing net. He also made a milling stone where she could grind the tubers and bulbs they relied on as a staple into a paste to make tortilla-like bread.

He set up an early warning alarm for the anomaly and spent most nights on watch, even after he'd secured all access points to their nest with thorns and brush and braided-grass lines he'd dipped in T-Rex urine to keep other predators away.

She watched him more closely after that, for signs of cracks. That was how she'd first recognized the signs. She'd seen them before, in other men. Past boyfriends when they'd done something to piss her off and she withheld sex for too long. He began to resemble a caged animal, desperate and uneasy.

So she made up some excuse, to give him some time alone.

The first time she left, she blushed profusely as she caught an occasional grunt float up to her century position in the trees. A cold chill ran through her, and she soon recognized that she was not immune to the needs that Connor so obviously had.

So she slipped away, to a cave he'd scouted a few days earlier, and dubbed 'Site B' when he'd shown her.

"In case we need to leave the nest." He told her and looked so lost and wounded that all she could think about was taking his hand and telling him that he wasn't alone.

But she was never good at expressing her feelings, not with words. So she just nodded and filed away the cave for 'later use'.

She laid flat on the cold stone floor and rubbed her clit under her pants, over her underwear and recalled the sounds Conner had made as he came. Her eyes slipped shut and she felt her whole body go numb, only to reawaken with a pleasant tingle that spread out from her chest to the rest of her.

She'd never really done a lot of masturbating, before the Anomalies. Back then, she'd been a normal, healthy, attractive girl. She never had a problem finding someone to share in her company. She had a series of semi-serious relationships that never left her single for more than a few weeks.

But then she'd meet Cutter and Stephen and Connor. And just like that, her whole world changed. At first it was all about Stephen, but after she found out about Helen, that well ran dry. And with Connor living in her flat, invading her routine, her life, her heart. It wasn't long before she owned a vibrator and made regular visits to the shower for a long, relaxing soak in the tub.

But she found it quick and always unfulfilling. And now that she was stranded, it was worse. Now there was only pride and fear that stood between her and a right, proper shagging.

She'd seen Connor's morning wood, even if she pretended to still be asleep. This morning had been particularly difficult to ignore. Her leg was on top of his thigh, rubbing ever so slightly against it as he breathed, steady and even. He only ever sounded like that when he slept, that at ease, almost peaceful. When he was awake, she could read the pain, the guilt he shouldered as clearly as she could read the words "Sara Gail" tattooed on his wrist, framed by swirling waves and wind.

Not long after they'd come through, Connor had lost his gloves after a dip in the stream. He swore up and down, he'd left them on the banks, with the rest of his clothes. But when he came back, they were gone. Abby chalked it up to nerves and assumed he misplaced them when he went for a bath. It was then that Abby had seen his tattoo up close, before she took pity on him and helped fashion a make-shift glove for his left wrist out scraps of fabric from the inside lining of her pack.

She knew he had a tattoo. He'd gotten it somewhere in between when he'd moved in and they were lost in time. And, if she was honest, she knew it was some time after he'd broken up with Caroline. In fact, if she was really, really honest with herself, she knew he'd gotten it the day before Cutter's funeral. Just before Jack moved in and everything changed, again.

There were three days between when Connor carried Cutter's body from the ARC and his funeral. On the first day, Connor didn't speak. He didn't move or talk or live. He was a stone. And Abby wept huge, wailing tears down his back that night. They fell asleep on the couch together, wrapped up in each other's limbs and grief. On the second day, Connor cried. Heart wrenching, terrible sobs that broke Abby all over again. She held his head in her lap and stroked his hair and kissed his eyelids and cheeks and tasted his tears on her lips. They slept together that night. It was quick and sloppy and they both cried during and after. It was an expression of loss and pain, and they reached out to each other, in the absence of anyone else who knew what it was like to be loved by Cutter.

After, Connor apologized, over and over. He asked for forgiveness for Cutter, for failing, for taking advantage of her.

"I'm a big girl Connor. I can make my own mistakes."

She'd known the moment she said 'mistake' that she'd messed up. She'd meant it to sound as if she made her own _decisions_, and it _wasn't_ a mistake. She tried to take it back, but he turned from her and sat in silnce as a fresh round of tears slid down his cheeks. He spent the rest of the night getting pissed and crying in the loft.

On the third day, he disappeared. When he turned up the next morning, there was plastic wrap under his glove and he hissed when he would awkwardly hit his wrist against something or would set it down with too much force on his desk. She knew, understood, that was when things changed. That had been a pivotal point in their relationship, and she'd screwed it up.

Since then, she'd caught a glimpse of his wrists so rarely, here or there, and he was careful to never let her get too close. Or see what was there. And when she did ask about it, months later, his expression drew grave and dark when he told her to 'leave it' and that it was _his _mistake.

"I drank too much is all." He admitted and a chill ran through her at the almost dangerous expression he wore. No hint of a dimple on his cheek. And the week-old beard didn't help dissuade the pooling 'yum' feeling he elicited from her those days.

"What's it say?"

"Nothing. Look, just leave it." he said as he turned back to his work.

"It can't be that bad. Come on, what's it say? 'Dinosaur' in Klingon or Elvish or something?" she teased and poked his arm.

"I said leave it!" He roared and rounded on her. "Can't you just mind your own goddamn business for once?"

Abby shrank away from him and nodded mutely. She'd been stunned he reacted like he did. But when she finally got a good look at what it said, she knew he'd been right to keep it from her. Back then, she wouldn't have understood, wouldn't have seen it, him, for what it was.

Three months ago, when she did see it up close for the first time, he caught her looking.

"What?" He challenged, and she shook her head.

"Nothing."

"It's nothing to do with you." He argued. "I've had it forever, she was my first girlfriend... pen-pal... I was with her when we met. You never knew her."

She didn't say anything, just smiled to herself, knowingly, and nodded.

It had been for her.

That morning, his tattoo was covered, but her thigh was rubbing against his erection and there was nothing more she wanted to do than wrap herself around him. Carefully and slowly, so not to wake him, she moved her leg against him, pressing down and pulling up, rubbing, caressing as best she could.

She balled the fabric of her shirt in her fist as he came, mewing and grunting. Fuck, it'd been attractive. Then he slowly woke, disoriented and blurry-eyed. She closed hers and pretended to be asleep. But she knew it was time for an 'outing' after that.

She wasn't sure what it was that kept her away, kept her in the shadows, thinking about him but never getting too close. Maybe it was fear. She'd always been afraid to let anyone get too close. They always seemed to leave, eventually. Cutter did. So did Stephen and Jenny, Jack and Connor - after their first time (even though on some level she knew - understood - that had been her doing). So did everyone else she'd ever allowed herself to get close to.

She was so used to people leaving. The fact that Connor was here now, after everything, was almost unthinkable. There was no reason why he should still love her or care about her at all after how poorly she'd treated him over the years. It scared her, confused her.

So while they spent months millions of years in the past, she squandered the chance to know him, to open up to him without fear of him abandoning her. It wasn't as if there was anywhere else to go.

Now, as she made her way to the cave, to mechanically paw at herself and strain for completion with her own fingers, she made a decision.

She wasn't going to do this anymore. There was no good reason why it was necessary. She had Connor. And while she still wasn't sure about the whole 'L' word thing, she knew she cared about him, and was attracted to him. And it was just the two of them, for God's sake. What else were they supposed to do? Go on being irritable and hiding away for one day a month for mediocre orgasms?

No. They were adults. They could go about this rationally.

Abby turned back about ten minutes out and headed for the thicket.

When she drew closer to the nest, she could just make out the tale-tell signs of masturbation coming from Connor. She could hear heavy breathing and groaning, and instantly, she was wet. She wanted to walk in and... what, she wasn't sure, jump him most likely. But something stopped her. It was another sound, a sound he made between grunts. It was like crying.

And 'oh shit' occurred to her before her brain even really registered it. He _was _crying. God, she was such a moron. She knew he blamed himself for what happened. But they'd never talked about it, she'd never taken the time to sit him down and explain to him that _she _didn't blame him. It hadn't been his fault. He'd gotten them this far, and she still had faith that he'd get them home. She was glad she was here with him, because she felt safe and loved and together they would get through this.

No, she hadn't said any of that. Nothing even close. So she listened, heartbroken and aroused while he beat off and wept. Unbidden, unmeaning to, her nipples hardened and her hand travel down. Listening to him groan and pant, she felt the hungry, aching _need _build between her legs.

Propped up against the branches of the entrance, she spread her legs and dipped a finger into her wet folds and whimpered with want. Not caring to take her time, she circled her fingertips against her clit in fast, tight circles. She could hear the strain in Connor's voice and more than anything she wanted to cum with him.

She didn't have to imagine anything to get her there. The sounds he made were perfectly suitable. And within moments, she was close. So she slowed her hand and waited. Waited to hear that 'ah ah ah' sound that men made when they came. And soon enough, she could hear it, hear him cumming.

"Fuck." She whispered darkly as she heard 'Oh Abby' come from Connor and she came instantly, and so strongly that she nearly blacked out with the force of it. She found herself in a heap on the ground, leaves stuck to her pants, twigs in her hair, and slick fingers that smelled heady and lovely.

She slipped into the entrance of their fortress and found him naked, and still semi-hard, already snoring lightly. There were tear tracks down his cheeks that left clean streaks of skin that resembled scars in the grim of the Cretaceous. A warm glow still spread over her, and she stretched out beside him and joined him in an afternoon nap.

* * *

To be continued...

Footnote on Connor's tattoo: Abigail is a biblical figure who is known for being beautiful and intelligent, "abigail" began to be used in literary terms, as a woman of grace and beauty. Ergo, "Gail" has become slang for "A woman of amazing grace, beauty, and intelligence. Also one that never gives up." - or - "Perfection. The most amazing and beautiful girl you will ever meet." And Sara as an obvious reference to Sarah, Abby's middle name. Also "Abigail" means "fountain of joy" and "Gail" can also refer to strong winds. Thus the waves and wind around the name. Yeah, Connor has it bad.

* * *

What's going to happen when Connor wakes up? And is Abby finally ready to admit that she needs him? Stay tune next week to find out.


	3. The Fall - Connor

**Title:** The Fall**  
****Chapter: **The Fall - Connor (3 of 5)**  
Author:** Winter Ashby _(rosweldrmr)_**  
Disclaimer:** Primeval © Adrian Hodges & Tim Haines**  
Rating:** M  
**Warnings: **M Rating is for sexually explicit situations - for realsies.  
**Time Line**: Post Season 3 - Pre Season 4. The lost year.  
**Summary: **She wished she could explain what he meant to her. But she didn't know how or was too afraid, words had always failed her. But she could show him. So she said, "I need this, Connor." When what she meant was 'I need you.' [Connor/Abby]  
**Authors Notes:** Originally, this was the scene I pictured in when I started this fic. It's time for Abby to get what she wants.

* * *

**THE FALL - CONNOR**

Connor woke to Abby, naked on her elbows and knees, between his legs, as she took him into her mouth.

"What the fuck?!" Connor cried and tried to spider-crawl away. But she dug her nails into the skin of his inner thigh and calf, keeping him stationery. She smiled, wicked and seductive. If he wasn't already hard from her lips, her breath, her tongue on him, that look, _alone_, would have done it. "What are you doin', Abby?" He asked again and had to concentrate very hard to think of anything except 'yes' and 'more'.

"Shut up." She told him, unceremoniously, and lapped her tongue over the head of his cock.

He shuddered against her, "I don't understand." He mumbled between gasping for breath. "Is this real?" He asked as his head rolled back.

"Yes." She purred against him and took long, slow bobs.

"Why?" He asked again. But she didn't respond. Her eyes lifted to watch him from under her thick eyelashes. And her eyes looked so big and she was sucking him off and Jesus, he hadn't thought this was even possible. He pressed his palms flat against the uneven ground and held his body rigidly away from her. He spread his legs so as not to touch her.

It wasn't that he didn't want this. Far from it. He wanted her, and this, and so much more than he knew he should. He wanted to have her, to keep her, to press into her and breathe her in. He wanted more than she could give, and it was devastating to know it would never be within reach.

So he held back. He kept quiet, as best he could. And tried not to move.

"I'm not gonna to hurt you." She said, drawing him from his thoughts. He hadn't even realized she'd pulled away. She sat with her legs tucked under her, and the bleached-blond tips of her hair just reached her shoulders. He traced the slope of her neck with his eyes, and followed it down, over her exposed shoulders, past the swell of her perfect breasts, searing it into his mind, his heart.

"That's not what I'm worried about." He said and took the opportunity to scoot back, away from her.

"What then?"

"I'm worried I won't be able to control myself. Seeing you there... Like that. I want you." He confessed and waited for the inevitable 'ew, gross' that would follow.

Instead he felt her hands inch up his legs as she rose to straddle him. "Say that again." She told him as she practically crawled her way up his body.

"I want you, Abby. But I can't, please, I can't." He was almost crying, begging for her to stop. Lord knew he wasn't capable of stopping himself. He'd wanted her for too long, wished a lifetime of fountains, eyelashes, shooting stars, necklace clasps, and birthday candles that she would be his. And there she was, hovering over him, inches from him, and he wanted her. It wasn't like their first time had been, when they were both lost in grief and it was just a way to _not be alone_. They hadn't even bothered to take off their shirts or socks, just pulled off their bottoms and fell into each other. They didn't kiss, didn't make eye contact, it was depressing and _nothing_ at all like now. It was a way to forget, if only for a few minutes the pain of losing a mentor and father figure. But now, oh now - there was no escape. This was real and sharp and hot and Connor tried to think past the shrinking space between their bodies.

Tried and failed.

He wanted skin on skin, lips and tongues and warmth and love. He wanted love more than anything. To love her, to touch her with love, to hold her and give love, to watch her and know love, to kiss her and feel loved. He wanted to be loved and to love, he wanted it more than sex, he realized, shocked at his own propriety.

Sex didn't mean anything without love. It would be hollow and incomplete and worse than masturbating. Because they he would always carry the memory, the scar of what it was like to wrap around her and in her and know what she felt like, sounded like as he poured all that he felt and was into her. It wouldn't be the distraction it had been the first time. If he let this happen now, it would kill him. And she would close her eyes and turn away when she came and leave him in the dark, in the cold, alone in his adoration.

He wanted her, but not like this, not in a mockery of love. Not because of isolation and desperation. Not something she would regret later, not like before. Not again. He couldn't go back to being just mates after this, after knowing her in this way, after pouring everything he had into her and showing her how much he needed her, loved her, with every touch and glance, he would carve it into her. And she would pretend to not see, to know what he was offering, so she wouldn't be forced to reject it - and him.

"I need this, Connor." She informed him as she took him in her hands, and rubbed the tip of his cock over her clit. "Please." she begged.

Her voice grew rough and ragged and undid all the neatly piled resolve he'd managed to build only seconds before. His only sound of acquiescence was the half-groan, half-incredulous-laugh of 'ah ha ah' he made as she slid down him, excruciatingly slowly.

He grit his teeth and forced himself not to reach for her hips, not to paw at her breasts and ram into her with everything he had. Instead, he watched her, her face, her eyes, her smile, her lips and the perfectly formed 'O' of her mouth as she came to rest her thighs on his hips, joining them completely. She was all focus and want. And it nearly broke him to know that _she didn't love him_. He'd survived death and torture and doomsdays and life and being stranded on the wrong end of an Anomaly for six months without breaking. But, he wouldn't make it back, not after this, after Abby took the last shred of dignity and self control he had.

He also knew, after this, she would never let him touch her. Fucking her meant losing her. And he just let it happen.

So, he took what he could now. Bathed in the feeling of being inside her, surrounded by her, smelling her, loving her.

"Oh God." Abby cried when he gave in and grabbed her hips.

She was so small. His hands wrapped almost all the way around her, from his thumbs pressed into the yielding flesh of her abdomen to his middle fingers that followed the incline of her back as it sloped in at the middle. He felt strong, powerful, in control.

And the look she gave him when he lifted her, just slightly, and moved his hips up to met her was nothing short of perfect.

If this was all she wanted, if this was what he was going to be, a release for her, then at least he could give her something good to remember him by.

She moaned and rocked her hips, moving him inside her, and he countered by raising his ass off the ground, carrying her with him, the weight of her body pushed him deeply inside of her.

It was a dance, where she would move her hands to her hair and close her eyes and he would thrust up and watch her carefully constructed mask of 'just sex' fall for a second when she realized that he knew her. Knew what she wanted, what she needed, and gave it to her.

He didn't, couldn't take his eyes off of her. She touched her breasts, plucked at her nipples with her thumb and forefinger and raised up on her knees to take control of their rhythm.

But Connor had other ideas. He held her level with his hands, just slightly above him and he pushed up and into her, over and over until he was breathless and panting.

But she didn't seem to notice as she cried out, her eyes clenched shut, and trembled in his grip. He knew she'd cum. And when her eyes opened, and she returned from that place where he couldn't follow, he saw hunger. He saw ecstasy.

And that only made him crave her all the more. He wanted to see it again, that look she gave him when she knew she was going to cum, and it was because of him.

All those years he'd watched her move, with careful eyes and sidelong glances, he'd wished for this. Not the sex they shared when Cutter died, when neither one of them could met each other's eyes and they cried. He'd wanted this. For her to look at him like _that_.

While he fucked her hard and uneven. His thrusts became erratic and he felt himself unlatch from the inside. His heart splitting clean down the middle and spilling out that warm sensation and begged for more. More skin, more movement, more pain and pleasure. More moans and nails and the look in her eyes as she held her breasts and rocked up and down on him.

"Fuck." He grunted and sat up, unable to stop himself anymore. He needed to kiss her, to feel her.

His hands on her back, pulling her neck to his mouth. He buried his face in her hair and kissed and sucked and nipped at anything, everything he could.

"Connor." She half-moaned, half-cried when his hands found her breasts. He kneaded her flesh and flicked the pad of his thumb over her nipple, making her quake around him as she came again.

He growled, unhappy with their current position. He was sitting, and her chest rubbed against his as she bounced up and down on him. But it wasn't deep enough, or fast enough.

So he slipped a hand around her ass and up her back, pressing her to him, forcing her movements to still. Then, he tipped them down and back, her legs wrapped around his middle instantly as he pressed her onto her back, driving deep inside of her.

From their new missionary position, Connor could kiss her, and watch every tilt, every 'oh', every expression on her face. He could count her freckles, and pick out the flecks in her eyes.

It was intimate. More intimate than being inside her, to be this close, to see the wonder, the joy, the 'yes' and 'more' in her face.

"Abby." He whispered her name, like a spell, like a prayer and held her face in his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes.

And in the span of a few heartbeats, the rhythm of his thrusts and her counters changed. It wasn't fast and frantic and now, now, now. It wasn't the harder, faster he'd felt when she was on top.

It was tender, it was loving. The way he held her to him, and rocked his pelvis in time with her retreat. Her hands tangled in his hair and she kissed his cheek and eyelids and nose.

She danced her fingertips down his side, and grazed her nails up his back, making him almost purr with pleasure as he pushed into her and pulled out. Like breathing.

He didn't want to fuck her. He wanted to show her love.

He poured every ounce of emotion into those moments. The pain at never having her love him, the guilt for stranding them, the fear he felt every time she almost died. The protection, possession she inspired in him. He wanted to break open and let her see inside him.

See what she meant to him. What every touch, every heated gaze, every word meant. It was love. Pure and utter in its honesty.

"I love you." He admitted as he felt that familiar 'just a little more' heat sweep through him as they pushed and pulled in unison.

But she just watched him, her huge, doe-eyes focused on his and she bit her lip and nodded. A tear spilled and rolled down her cheek as she pulled her arms around his neck, drawing him to her.

It was only then he noticed he was crying. Huge, unmanly tears free-falling from his eyes and left a salty taste when he kissed her.

God, but he loved her.

And as he felt his fortitude unravel around her, in her, he felt his heart break to know he'd never have this again, that he didn't even really have _this_. This didn't count. It didn't mean anything to her, and here he was giving her his heart and soul with each desperate thrust.

He planted his hands on either side of her and raised up, going wild and hurried in his last moments. He grunted and pushed into her three more times until, there.

And it was like glass shattering, a crystalline 'chink' when he crossed that line, and his toes curled and he tried to pull out.

But she dug her nails into his ass and wrapped her legs around his waist, keeping him inside of her while he came.

"I can't...Abby! I'm cumming." He warned, and she just smiled up at him, wet face and nodded.

"I want you to."

And he let go. He let everything go and fell into her. His eyes squeezed shut and he was lost in a realm of lights and a creeping fever that spider-webbed out from his center until it reached every edge of him and circled back, leaving him cold and trembling in its wake.

Through the haze, he knew he'd kept pushing, even as he fell apart, just to hear her cry out as she came one last time, sputtering and clinging to him.

When he finally came back from his place of solace, he was sprawled out on top of her, legs tangled, hair stuck to his forehead, and he'd never smelled anything more alluring.

Semen and sweat and Abby's arousal all blended with the forest scent around them, leaving a heavy, earthy musk that made his head swim.

They panted, and he could feel their tandem heartbeats against the cage of their ribs, like a bird thrashing against its bars.

He pulled out of her, feeling the slick, sticky cum on his thighs and groin. Immediately he snatched his clothes up and turned his back to her as he dressed.

He couldn't stand to be in the same space as her. Seeing her lay there, utterly spent and saited. He couldn't bear to be around when she came down from this high and realized what she'd done, what he'd done, what she'd let him to do her, what he'd taken, what she'd taken from him.

She would pull away again, draw deeper into herself, guard her words and glances like she did after their first time when she'd kicked him out so Jack could move in. With nowhere to run to, she would turn from him, abandon him, keep always just out of arm's reach from him.

Bridges burned, and lines crossed. The least he could was not be here when she reverted back to her status quo.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Oh damn, so... that just happened. How are Abby and Connor going to deal with this new development in their relationship, what does it mean for them? Up Next: We get to see things from Abby's POV. True motives revealed, next week.


	4. The Fall - Abby

**Title:** The Fall**  
****Chapter: **The Fall - Abby (4 of 5)**  
Author:** Winter Ashby _(rosweldrmr)_**  
Disclaimer:** Primeval © Adrian Hodges & Tim Haines**  
Rating:** M  
**Warnings: **M Rating is for sexually explicit situations - for realsies.  
**Time Line**: Post Season 3 - Pre Season 4. The lost year.  
**Summary: **She wished she could explain what he meant to her. But she didn't know how or was too afraid, words had always failed her. But she could show him. So she said, "I need this, Connor." When what she meant was 'I need you.' [Connor/Abby]  
**Authors Notes:** Connor is so convinced that Abby doesn't feel anything for him, but is that really true anymore? Let's see Abby's side of things.

* * *

**THE FALL - ABBY**

Abby woke from her nap feeling anxious and squirmed closer to the warm body at her side. But when she felt the warm, exposed skin of Connor's stomach and arms, her eyes flew open. He was still naked, like she'd found him, still sound asleep. Her eyes roamed, lazily down his body, caressing every curve, every peak and valley of his skin. The way the late afternoon sun danced over his tanned shoulders and face, his dark, long hair as their nest of thistles and burrs breathed in the wind.

Without his watchful gaze on her, she was free to take her time, studying him, memorizing him, imagining licking the bones of his hips, kissing the hollow of his clavicle past the sharp angle of his Adam's apple.

She moved slowly, angling her arm down to prop herself up on her elbow so she could continue her perusal of his body unobstructed. And the more she looked, the more she saw.

The scars on his arms and legs and hands and abdomen. She reached out a soft finger and traced a scar that cut jaggedly up and across his side. She knew him so well, knew his body, every cut and scar. Every time he'd come for her, rescued her, believed in her, supported her, saved her, _loved _her.

She wished she could show him, really explain to him what he meant to her. What it meant to have him here, so she wasn't alone. But she couldn't do it with words. She always messed it up, or he misunderstood and she'd get angry.

The only time she'd come close to explaining to him what he meant, how much she needed him, how much she appreciated, depended, and yes - maybe - loved him, was when she kissed him. It was the actions that always spoke in volumes when words failed her. Every time he stood between her and danger, when he told her to 'Go' in the future, and drew the predator to himself. It was always the actions that meant more.

So, she would let her actions speak now. Even if she couldn't say it, didn't know how or was too afraid, she could _show _him. This was why she stayed when Danny continued on, because even the entire fate of the human race meant nothing, _nothing_, compared to losing him. He was the reason she was alive, the reason she hadn't crumbled into a useless heap the second she realized they were stuck. He gave her strength. He gave her hope.

It was the reason she'd turned back this morning, the reason she didn't want to hide in a cave anymore. This had been why she came back, for him, for sex, for this - the chance to make him see, make him understand that she was in this with him. That they were a team, that she needed him.

She stood and removed off her clothes, silently, and crawled down, positioning herself between his legs. She looked at him, drank him in. She wanted him. She wanted this.

She bent down and licked his cock from the base of his balls to the smooth flesh of his head, along the thick vein that she knew was so sensitive.

"What the fuck?!" he woke with a start and tried to crawl away, but she held him still with her nails, it took all the bravado and courage she had in her to do this, there was no way she was going to let him crawl away. "What are you doin', Abby?"

"Shut up." she instructed as she licked his cock as it grew and hardened in her grasp.

"I don't understand. Is this real?" he asked, and she nearly groaned. Why did he have to question this, wasn't it obvious what she was trying to do?

"Yes." she told him as she pulled his cock into her mouth. This was what she wanted. She wanted to taste him, to be in control of how this aspect of their relationship progressed. She didn't want to have to have a long talk about _how she felt_, she wanted to make him cum, to know how she affected him, to see how much he wanted her.

"Why?" but she didn't answer. Why bother? Words had always failed her. So she looked right at him and sucked him off and thought 'because I need you'. But he legs spread, away from her and she was felt feeling cold and alone in this. He closed his eyes and held his breath, and okay... this wasn't going exactly like she'd sort-of planned. Well, not really planned so much as fantasized? She stopped, and sat up, but he kept his eyes closed.

"I'm not gonna to hurt you."

"That's not what I'm worried about." He admitted when he peaked an eye open and she could've just wrung his neck. What was she missing, what _wasn't_ he saying?

"What then?"

"I'm worried I won't be able to control myself. Seeing you there... like that. I want you." And fuck, she wanted him. She needed this and him and _THIS_.

She straddled him as slowly as she could stand to and said "Say that again." She was so close, so dangerously close to tripping and falling off the edge of her 'just sex' cliff that when he was naked and hard and looking at her like that - like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen - she stumbled for him.

"I want you, Abby. But I can't, please, I can't." he almost cried, begged for her to stop. But she didn't want to. She didn't want to be just mates, just survival buddies, trying to make it in the Cretaceous. She wanted Connor. She wanted him to tell her he loved her again, to hold her and protect her and let her be the girl for once. She wanted to relax into him, let him carry her burdens and still be there in the morning.

But she didn't know how to ask. She didn't know if he still wanted her, like that, after she'd pushed him away and messed things up. And she was too scared that he would see her, in all her broken, frayed dreams and fears and everything that she hid from the world and turn away. She couldn't stand to have him turn from her, to not look at her like she was always the most beautiful girl in any room. So she tempered her need, her desperate desire to be loved and said, "I need this, Connor." When what she meant to say was 'I need you.' But she figured it was close enough, and rubbed his cock against her wet clit. "Please."

Then he sort of nodded, or moved his head in a way that meant 'okay' or what she thought he meant, since he didn't speak as she inched down him. She breathed out an "Oh" as she came to rest on and around him, and yes - God yes. This is what she'd been waiting for.

She waited a few seconds, to make sure he wasn't going to push her away before he seemed to decide something, and his hands flew to her hips and he bucked up and Christ. She wouldn't last long like this. "Oh God." He cried and Abby arched into his touch.

He moved up to thrust into her, and she rocked her hips, moving him inside her. And it was like a dance, a heated urgent dance that she'd dreamed of for months. And he knew her so well, he knew what she wanted, what she needed without asking, without saying, without words. He knew. And that's why she'd done this, because words never came out right, never said what she meant, had undertones and implications and hidden meanings and things not said. But this - hips and fingers and him inside her - this didn't need words.

Her hands grazed over her breasts, and she needed this. She could feel herself begin to close in, shutdown, strain, reach with unseen hands for that end, that peak of pleasure that she would tumble down. She raised up on her knees to push down onto him, looking for that 'just a little more' that she needed. But he held her steady and arched his back to crash into her and there.

Just there. His thrusting was what she'd needed, it was enough. It took all that pleasure that built, that heat, that need and pushed her past it. And she was falling, cascading down, caught in his grip she quaked around him and felt that familiar spread of cool sweep through her.

When she opened her eyes from the black, colorful world of her orgasm his thrusts had become swift and disjointed, and she thought he might be close.

Instead, he said "Fuck" and sat up so that when she bounced on her knees, her nipples moved against his chest. And God, wasn't that the hottest thing she'd ever seen him do?

Then he kissed her, and she realized she'd missed it. This had been missing when she rode him, she wanted his hands on her, lips and intimacy and being half a body's length away just couldn't give her.

And his hands, god his hands that she knew so well. They'd saved her, they'd hauled her over a cliff, pulled her from the water, held her when she cried, held her hand at Stephen's funeral. She loved his hands, and him and she didn't know how to _tell _him. She didn't know how to say it, how to mean it, how to make him understand it.

She gave herself over to him. His hands, his lips, their kiss, the way his thumb felt as he passed over her nipple and, _guh_. "Connor." she breathed his name as she came again, thinking of love and another lifetime when she'd been too stupid to see that he was exactly what she'd always wanted.

But before she could speak or cry or do anything at all, his hands stilled her and he tipped them back, pinning her against the ground, pushing so deeply into her, she thought she might split in half.

And suddenly, he was there. Inches from her, he kissed her slowly, languidly, lovingly. "Abby." He whispered her name and all the haste dissolved and she was left with an aching want for him. Not just sex, not just flesh and skin and lips and hips. She wanted him. Connor. His laugh, his dimples, his curled lips and brown eyes, his long, scruffy hair and reference to Buffy and Lord of the Rings. She wanted everything he was, all that he would be, everything.

She gurgled an almost-sob as she strained up to kiss him. She kissed his cheeks and nose and eyelids and thought 'I love you' with everything she had in her. She reached out with her mind, wishing she could be telepathic so he could see himself like she saw him.

Her nails ran up his back and he curled into her and she could read the pain in his eyes as clearly as if he'd tattooed it to his forehead. Tears streamed, steady and silently, down his cheeks as he pushed into her and she moved up to meet him. And in those moments, Abby knew, she was loved.

"I love you."

She didn't think she could speak, she was too afraid of crying. So she just bit her lip, nodded and tried not to blubber like a baby, because 'Yes, you idiot, I love you too' wasn't the appropriate response at the moment.

Then she pulled him to her and kissed him, sweetly, softly. A caress, in substitution for the words she didn't have.

Then, he pulled away and pushed up and into her and she knew he was close. So close, just a little more. So she raised her hips and contracted the muscles in her abdomen just before she saw his 'ah ah ah' face tear down the mask of 'just sex' he was trying so hard to hold up.

He tried to pull out, and wildly, all Abby could think was 'No, don't leave me.' So she dug her nails into him and wrapped her legs around him.

"I can't...Abby! I'm cumming." She smiled up and nodded because it didn't exactly seem like the right time to tell him that she was 3 years into a 10 year IUD so it didn't really matter where he came, and she didn't want it to be over yet. She couldn't stand the idea of losing him just when she felt like she'd finally _found_ him.

So she said, "I want you to."

And his eyes clamped shut as he moved his hips in sharp, jerky motions that pushed her over the edge of her last orgasm. And she fell. In the dark, past the swirling colors and lights and a whole universe of Connor that made her head swim.

When she finally opened her eyes, he was pulling out, a grim expression on his face that tore at her heart. She wanted to reach out to him, to draw him back to her. But he turned his back and dressed quickly before leaving the nest. Leaving her alone to consider just how many ways she could screw this up.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Way to go, Abby. How are you going to fix this now?


	5. Just Once - Connor & Abby

**Title:** The Fall**  
****Chapter: **Just Once - Connor & Abby (5 of 5)**  
Author:** Winter Ashby _(rosweldrmr)_**  
Disclaimer:** Primeval © Adrian Hodges & Tim Haines**  
Rating:** M  
**Warnings: **M Rating is for sexually explicit situations - for realsies.  
**Time Line**: Post Season 3 - Pre Season 4. The lost year.  
**Summary: **She wished she could explain what he meant to her. But she didn't know how or was too afraid, words had always failed her. But she could show him. So she said, "I need this, Connor." When what she meant was 'I need you.' [Connor/Abby]  
**Authors Notes:** This is a joint chapter POV, where Abby has to make a decision, is she going to put herself out there, to try and win Connor or stay quiet and let things stay as they were?

* * *

**JUST ONCE**** - CONNOR & ABBY**

"That can't happen again." Connor spoke down to Abby, who'd just emerged from the nest. He sat in the split between branches. From his perch, he could just make out the blush on her cheeks, and the pink swell of her lips. He ached to touch her again, even so soon after, he hungered for her. Her hands and lips and the way she looked when she... Okay, so this whole 'be strong' thing wasn't working like Connor was hoping. But with the advantage of distance, it was easier to appear calm and even.

"And what if I want it to?" Abby asked, as she put her hands on her hips. She knew, from the way he'd nearly tripped over himself to get away, that she'd done this all wrong, again. Her plan to show him with actions what she couldn't say with words had failed, and she'd only succeeded in pushing him away. He was hidden in the lush green foliage of the tree just outside their nest. And just the sound of his voice was enough to start her trembling. Her legs were still weak and she could almost _hear_ him saying her name while he pushed into her. Oh, she wanted it to happen again, of that, she was sure.

"I can't." He called down to her, all false bravado and tempered anger. He knew, there was nothing that he could do to stop himself from wanting her. And there was nothing he could do to make her see, to force her to love him. He'd condemned himself to a lifetime stuck with the one person he love and cherished and always held him at arm's length. "I'm sorry, Abby." It was a sad fate. He would die alone, he realized, and almost crumbled from the weight of his own grief. "Maybe it's best if I move to the cave." His voice shook and he fought to keep the tears from his eyes.

"You can't!" Abby surged forward at hearing his plans. Her hands shook with what she could only assume was a mounting panic attack. He was going to leave her, the way they all did. And she would be trapped and alone and she would die without him. She could see that now, and with a terrible twisting in her gut, she admitted that she needed him. "What about me?" she asked, forlorn and spotted his foot through the leaves of the tree. Her eyes trained on the way his leg swung and bounced while he took a moment to respond.

"It's for the best." Connor answered past the lump in his throat and tried, desperately, to remind himself that _this was for the best_.

"And what gives you the right to make that choice for both of us?" She sighed, feeling weary. She was too exhausted to fight this, and him, and herself anymore. She could feel her resolve, her wall of 'don't get too close' crack from the pressure. But hadn't this been what she wanted? Didn't she _want_ to move this - whatever this was between them - forward. Didn't she want him, all of him? The sex had been a mistake only in her silence. It spoke when she was unwilling or unable to. But _what_ it said, she hadn't considered that it was the W-R-O-N-G thing to say. It only ended in more pain and heartache and now she was staring at his foot trying to think how she could ever make this right.

"It'll be better if we aren't around each other all the time." Connor reasoned and tried not to take the anxiety that was in her voice as a validation for his continued presence. It was also his own mind, his own heart, the 'what if's and 'maybe's that got him into these situations. He couldn't just leave well enough alone, couldn't accept what he was to her at face value. Not when he had hope. It was a vile, awful thing, to hope. To kiss her and confess his deepest held thoughts and fears and have her pull away just enough that he was tantalized with the possibility that 'someday' it would be different. In that way, he was his own worst enemy. it was his own selfish, delusional, _hopeful_ thoughts that cut deeper than any implied rejection she'd ever shown him. It might have been easier if she did reject him, if she squashed what little hope he had. It was the ambivalence, the 'never quite sure what she really wanted' that tore at him.

"Come down here. I want to have a proper conversation without straining my neck!" she yelled, and shit, this was going really poorly. Why was this so hard? Why did he have to take everything she said and twist it against her? He was too smart for his own good, sometimes. He was so sure he was right, when really he was wrong. Wrong about her, about them, about what this was.

"I can't be around you, Abby. Whenever I am, I can't help myself." He pulled his leg up and scooted farther back into the fork of the branches, trying to draw into himself. As if distance could cure him of her. As if _not_ seeing her face as he confessed would make it less real, less true, less devastating. "I love you and I don't know how to stop. I would if I knew how, but I can't." He could hear her intake of breath at his declaration, and it was like being thrown into the Thames in January - pins and needles, burning kind of chill that shot through him.

Abby gasped, at hearing him admit what she was too damaged, too broken to be capable of. Why could he say it and she couldn't? She was brave and strong and faced certain death and danger and always did it without a second thought. But the 'L' word had her quaking in her boots. Just the thought of saying it made her break into a cold sweat. "Damnit, Connor!" Abby screamed up at him in a huff and resigned herself to climbing the fucking tree. She thought, wildly, stupidly, maybe - if she were closer, if she could whisper it to him across an inch of space between their lips, his eyes closed and his hands on her shoulders, she might be able to do this. She might be able to say all the things she hadn't, but should've and couldn't out loud.

He saw her through the leaves reach for the branch at the bottom of the tree, and 'crap, she will be the death of me' was the only thing that kept him from screaming. "Don't come up." he yelled down to her, but without another way down, except jumping and probably breaking his leg and dying, he was trapped. He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated and completely incapable of squashing the tiny voice of 'maybe she wants this too' that was always just below the surface.

"You can't stop me, and don't you even think about jumping or so help me, Connor, I will knock you out and hang you upside down until your head explodes!" She warned when she saw his eyes darting around, looking for a way out. 'I'll be damned if I climb all the way up there to tell him how I feel and he kills himself trying to get away from me.' she thought and pulled herself into the foliage. She could make out his legs, straddling a thick branch, and his naked wrist and tattoo visible just past a smaller branch he held on to. His eyes trained on her so intently, she almost felt naked, exposed. But it was the hopeful way that he watched her that made her turn away. She'd done this all wrong, and fucked it up, and still - he wanted her. If he was capable of that - then certainly, she was capable of telling him she wanted to be with him.

"Fine. Fine!" He yelled, unsure really, why he was so mad. "Have it your way!" He crossed his arms over his chest and tried, really, _really_ tried not to pout like a child. But he could think of no better way to respond to her emotional bullying that to act like one.

Abby pulled herself up the smaller branches, using them as foothold and handholds. She'd done this a million times before, but her limbs felt too heavy, her knees too nobby and wobbly from sex and she knew she'd made a mistake a second before her the branch she was clutching snapped.

There was a crack.

Connor heard the snap and her soft gasp of shock before the top of her head, which he had been using to monitor her progress abruptly dropped from view.

The branch toppled from her opened palm, and tumbled down the 20 feet she'd managed to climb. And in that second that it took for the branch to break, Abby's foot dislodged from the groove she'd been using as a foothold before she slid down the tree, she gave up trying to run. She clamped her legs around the trunk and 'eep'ed as she closed her eyes and held on tight. "Connor!" She didn't even mean to, she didn't make a conscious decision to call out to him or reach up to him, it was all instinct. Her body, she knew, loved him long before her head caught up. And almost crashing to her death, or at the very least a painful injury was enough to push her brain past whatever blockade was keeping her from him.

Connor felt his heart leap to his throat and there was nothing for it - he through himself after her. His legs tangled around the trunk and he flung his arms out, fingers grasping and tangling in the fabric of her shirt just as she called his name. "Abby." He called to her, through the haze of terror that chipped away at his 'this is best' plan.

But when she looked up at him, eyes locked and fingers intertwined, Abby knew she was safe. He wouldn't let her fall.

She held on for dear life as Connor hauled her over the branch he'd been straddling and immediately, she was on him. He was lost in the feeling of her cheek pressed against his chest, hair tickling his chin, her breath hot and deep across his shoulder, nails ripped at the fabric of his shirt. He held her to him, and 'fuck it' he thought. What did it matter that she only wanted him for sex. Sex was better than nothing, right? And at least he'd be there. He always wanted to be there, to make sure she had a hand when she needed it, to make sure there was always someone watching her back.

They breathed heavily and all Abby could think was 'Don't leave me.' It echoed through her mind, bounced off the confines of her self-imposed 'push them away first' mentality.

"Don't leave me." She said finally, whispered it into his chest and Connor felt like he'd slipped into an alternate universe. "I pushed you away, all those times, because I was scared. Everyone always leaves me, in the end. Stephen and Cutter and Jenny and Danny and my parents. I always end up alone, so I pushed you away because I was scared."

Once she'd opened the floodgates, Abby couldn't stop. The truth, the horrible, desperate truth of who she was came tumbling out of her mouth like some kind of terrible word vomit and she couldn't stop because for the first time in months, she admitted that she couldn't do this alone.

"I can't do this alone. I can't do it without you. And I didn't sleep with you just because I was horny. Well, I mean, I was, but only because I think about you all the time, and I wanted you because... because..."

Abby was rambling, like he'd never seen her do before. He was pretty sure she was crying into his chest, but all he heard was what she _still wasn't saying_. "Because, what, Abby?" He asked and touched her hair. He pulled her face away from him and made her met his eyes.

"Please, don't make me say it." She asked, begged. She hated feeling weak, hated admitting that she was wrong, and that she needed him. She hated the fucking 'L' word, because every time she'd ever heard someone use it, it heralded the end.

"I need to hear it, just once." Connor asked, hoped and begged and wished and wanted. "Just once, I'll never make you say it again I promise. But I need to know. I need to hear you say it, just this once." He tried to coax it out of her, and it felt like he was so close. So close to winning this battle, at last.

"Because I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you!" She yelled, and she wasn't even sure why. Why was admitting that so difficult, and frightening? Why did admitting it feel like losing?

"We'll, it's about damn time." he laughed and crushed her to him. He kissed her, deeply, breathlessly, with everything he had in him. He realized he was crying. Rivers of tears streamed down his face, and he didn't care. God, he really didn't care. Because he was happy. He was whole and complete, and it was more than he'd ever hope for, wished for, longed for.

As Abby clung to him, she knew she'd finally made the right decision. She tasted the salty tears on his lips and she laughed and wound her hands around his neck, pulling him to her. It felt right, like nothing else before. It felt like home, like loving Connor meant going home.

And as they stepped through the anomaly another six months later, tired and worn and in desperate need of some twentieth century marvels like toilet paper and soap, she _knew_ that loving him had led them there. So she held fast to his hand and waited, waited for the world to leap forward, for whatever was waiting for them, because as long as they were together, as long as she loved him (because she knew he would always love her), they could make it through anything.

* * *

Z End.

* * *

I want to thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. I also tried to give some sort of reasoning behind why you never really see Abby and Connor say they love each other in the series. It's implied or whispered or said with meaningful looks and kissing/embraces. But they don't say it. This is my theory.


End file.
